


Keep Your Enemies Closer

by CurseOfImmortality



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-16 03:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20173717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurseOfImmortality/pseuds/CurseOfImmortality
Summary: It’s 11:10 and Peter rushes into Fluid Mechanics ten minutes late because, of course, he can’t seem to catch a break today even though he’s long stopped putting in crimefighting shifts during the day.The metal door slams behind him, echoing through the silent hall, causing pretty much the entire class to turn and glare at him, frozen wide-eyed at the entrance…Holding two Starbucks cups.Like an absolute tool.Because he’s late. Because he spent half-an-hour hemming and hawing, second guessing, and pretty much freaking himself out over what drink Michelle would order at a place as corporate and soulless as Starbucks. And there’s about a bajillion options and an infinite number of ways to customize your drink. But does she even like coffee? Should he get a tea instead?He has no idea. But he gets one anyways. Even if it means being late to his midterm.College!AU, In which Peter Parker juggles freshman year of college, fighting crime as a teenaged superhero, investigating the mysterious reappearance of an old nemesis, and being hopelessly in love with the beautiful and sarcastic freshman on his floor. He always bites off far more than he can chew.





	Keep Your Enemies Closer

It’s the _second _time that Peter gets dropped into an open garbage dumpster that was intentional, he swears.

It’s an understandable mess.

Peter groans, climbing wearily out of the mound of trash, suit squelching with sweet, sweet _trash juice_. He flops to the ground and shields his eyes from the harsh street lights, searching the horizon.

_Gone. _Damn it.

Peter sighs. What a shitty day.

With one web-shooter fried and the other shattered from impact, it’s going to take a _long _time to get back to his dorm.

If he can even get there.

Peter debates the pros and cons of just calling an Uber, but he’s missing his backpack too. Spider-Man doesn’t have a private Uber account, and linking it to his phone seems colossally stupid—you know, the kind of thing that he finds himself doing on a regular basis.

Like going crime-fighting the night before his midterm.

_Stupid_. Like he said.

Cursing himself for the hundredth time, Peter starts trudging home.

*

It’s almost four AM by the time Peter steps into the shower and _thank God for hot showers. _The rush of steam and heat feels wonderful on the taut muscles clenched in his back, flushing out all the dirt, sweat, and _trash _clinging onto his body.

Peter closes his eyes in the relaxing heat. Man. He’d laughed at Ned for suggesting going to a spa to hangout, but maybe the man had been onto something.

Hot tub time was apparently the best man time. He’d have to look into that next time.

The soap comes on and Peter sets about his routine. It’s quiet in the dorms tonight, not surprising considering it’s pretty much in the dead of night. Even the late-night party goers were all in bed at this time; though Tuesday generally wasn’t a time when that many people went out, that was usually Thursday actually. 

And what was _Vulture _of all people doing sulking about the city anyways? The first time Peter had run into the menacing man on his late-night patrols, he’d had Karen check all the State and Federal prison databases.

As far as anyone knew, Adrian Toomes was still incarcerated in a federal correctional facility upstate.

Was he somehow sneaking out in the middle of the night?

It’s possible, Peter decides, they had that weird matter-phasing technology that they’d used to break into things. Vulture could easily sneak through the prison walls if he wanted.

But then, why stay? Why go _back _to the prison during the day if he could get out at night?

There were no answers for that one.

A warning tingle ran down his neck. The showerhead was turning lukewarm, a danger sign that he was going to get quickly dumped in freezing cold water. Well, he was done anyways. 

Peter shuts off the water and, wrapping his towel around his waist, steps out of the shower.

He instantly freezes.

_Crap._

Because, of course, it's _Michelle_ freaking _Jones_ who is right there.

Michelle Jones who is honestly the prettiest girl he had ever met, who he had the fortune of being just across the hall from.

The same girl who is currently frozen staring at him like a deer in headlights, her toothbrush hanging forgotten from its place in her mouth. 

Peter could _feel _the heat rushing to his face, _freaking __co-ed dorms_. He loved them but he hated them. One bathroom for the entire floor, even with multiple stalls and showers, was _not _okay.

“Uh, umm,” Peter chokes out, eyes darting aside to check the countertop. _Crap_. He’d forgotten to bring any of his clothes. 

He was going to have to make a break down the hallway in nothing but a _towel_.

God. He hated himself.

_Why does she keep glancing down?! _Was he _showing_? Panic bursts as he notices her eyes dart in between making eye contact before drifting lower. With his face already a furnace, Peter grips the towel wrapped around his waist and pulls it higher.

“UMM. Nice to see you! Gottagobye!”, he _bolts _out of the restroom, praying to God that _no one else _is up at this ungodly hour of the night, feeling what must be Michelle’s judgmental gaze boring into his back. 

Thankfully, no one else is in the hallway as Peter crashes into his single and collapses into his bed, groaning in embarrassment. It was _over _for him. She was going to _hate _him. There was no way he was going to be able to explain himself without looking like freaking _Brad_.

Peter groans again, burying his face into his pillow. He totally just ruined his chances with Michelle; he’d been planning on—okay, more like daydreaming about—asking Michelle if they could, you know, maybe get some coffee with him at Starbucks? The one just across the street from their Fluid Mechanics class.

Maybe next week.

Was that too early? Next month? Would it feel like…like a date? Could he just bring coffee for the both of them instead?

But, knowing her, she would never put up with him forcing _anything _on her. He didn’t even know what she would like. Or, maybe he could just ask if…if they could…be lab partners?

It’s then that Peter realizes that he’s hopeless. It’s over, because he’s panicking about just being _lab partners _with Michelle Jones, and she probably thinks that he’s like one of those douchebags who struts half-naked around the dorm just to show off their chest and pick up girls.

Michelle would never go for a guy like that.

With a sigh, Peter gets himself dressed and mentally prepares himself to go out there to get ready for bed. Thankfully, Michelle is already gone by the time he swings by, so he just tidies up the bathroom and moves to brush his teeth. It’s _4:37 _by the time he crashes back into bed.

Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.

He closes his eyes and finds himself drifting off.

*

_SomeBODY once told me, the world is gonna –_

Bleary eyed, Peter swipes to silence his phone alarm and flops back into bed.

Not a minute later, _All Star _starts blaring again, this time from the Bluetooth speaker tucked into the corner of the room.

_Ugh_. Peter rubs his eyes and sits up on his bed as the Smash Mouth song merrily chirps away, why was he awake again? What time is it?

8:35.

Oh. His Linear Algebra/Diff-EQ discussion section started thirty minutes ago. It’s halfway across campus.

Peter jumps out of bed and quickly gets dressed—sweats and a tee—and rushes out the door, snagging his homework assignment on the way out.

It’s too early to be awake but thank goodness for Karen. He doesn’t remember setting his alarm; she must’ve done it for him.

“Ho—sorry!”

“Excuse me!

“Just coming through!”

He makes it to his discussion just at the top of the hour, swimming up the stream of departing students, just in time to slip his homework assignment into the stack. The GSI rolls her eyes at him but doesn’t say anything.

Morning educational disasters averted, Peter rubs his eyes and trudges back to his dorm. Time to _actually_get ready now. He still needs to brush his teeth. And wear some real clothes. Maybe even take a nap.

He always feels better after nap.

_No. Crap. _That’s right. It’s Wednesday. He has a midterm today in just a few hours, he can’t be late. It’s _Fluid Mechanics_. _Michelle is going to be there_.

Peter resists the urge to groan out loud. He’s been doing that a lot lately.

This is going to be an _absolute train wreck_. In between getting four hours of sleep, the stress of midterms, getting trashed by what was probably Vulture, on top of what happened last night…Peter doesn’t know how today could _possibly _go well.

Unsurprisingly, it goes about as well as he predicts.

It’s 11:10 and Peter rushes into Fluid Mechanics ten minutes late because, of course, he can’t seem to catch a break today even though he’s long stopped putting in crimefighting shifts during the day.

The metal door slams behind him, echoing through the silent hall, causing pretty much the entire class to turn and glare at him, frozen wide-eyed at the entrance…

Holding two Starbucks cups.

Like an absolute tool.

Because he’s late. Because he spent half-an-hour hemming and hawing, second guessing, and pretty much freaking himself out over what drink Michelle would order at a place as corporate and soulless as _Starbucks_. And there’s about a bajillion options and an infinite number of ways to customize your drink. But does she even _like _coffee? Should he get a tea instead?

He has no idea. But he gets one anyways. Even if it means being late to his midterm.

Because, of course, even with the absolute disaster of a day, _and _last night, Peter can’t help but just, just _hope_.

That just _maybe _he can salvage today. Because, God, if he can just—if he can just get Michelle’s attention, then any amount of humiliation would be worth it.

But, of course, it’s not until Peter stops by his usual seat—right next to Michelle—that he realizes he’s absolutely _dead_. Because it’s only when Michelle glances up at him awkwardly standing next to her, two coffees in hand, that he realizes that he has to _explain _this somehow in the middle of a _midterm_.

He stammers out a half-whispered explanation in a silent auditorium of over three hundred people, “I—I’m so sorry! Last night, I didn’t mean—it was so awkward, I wasn’t trying—didn’t know you were there—I swear!”, as he _thrusts _the coffee into her hands before practically flying down the rest of the stairs to get his exam.

Peter just wants to die. He wants to crawl into a corner somewhere and just die. There was absolutely _no way _that he could have done that worse. And indeed, as he takes his seat to start the midterm, he glances over at Michelle—only to see her staring at him like he’s the biggest idiot that she’s seen this side of the Moon.

She even sets the drink aside, perching it on an empty table next to her.

Heat crawls up his face and into his ears, as Peter desperately scrambles to fight the crippling sense of _shame _seeping through his bones. His eyes dart back to the empty pages in front of him.

Okay. Okay.

He just needs to get back to _normal_. To just _focus _on his midterm because he’s screwed the pooch on everything today—_everything_.

But here, at least, it’s just school, just an exam.

He huffs a deep breath.

He can’t mess this up, right? He knows he’s got this. He studied last night.

Sort of. And then ended up getting his face beat in by a giant robotic bird.

In between the sheer humiliation of feeling like such a _tool_, his nervousness about the midterm, and running on coffee and four hours of sleep, Peter can barely focus. He flips through his midterm like a madman, scrawling through answers, and just barely containing himself from vibrating like a hyperactive squirrel. Shame and humiliation burns like marks on his face. 

By the time the professor calls the period over for people to turn in their papers and start packing their bags, Peter jumps out of his seat and races out the door before anyone can ask.

Because he’s _done_.

He’s so _done _with this.

Before he realizes what’s happening, he’s got his suit on, and he’s swinging out the door in broad daylight, in blatant violation of his personal life boundaries.

He just needs a break—and if there’s anything that blows off steam and helps him feel centered and _in control_, it’s being Spider-Man. Because, well, sometimes it helps just to get things out of his system by swinging. And fighting. And especially punching. 

Punching is good.

Life is hard; and Peter realizes he has a serious problem when he’d take fighting omnicidal space aliens any day of the year over talking to a pretty girl like Michelle Jones.

He’s so screwed.

* 

By the time Peter is done patrolling the city, the day is over and he’s webbed up four would-be muggers, stopped two car-jacking incidents, and helped a handful of ailing grandmothers cross the street.

There’s a lot that he sees every day doing this job, often the worst side of humanity. But nothing makes him happier as Spider-Man than just to show the most neglected people that _someone _cares.

For all the thugs, supervillains, and even evil space aliens that Spider-Man deals with on a regular basis, it’s the quiet moments of showing someone that they are more than worth his time helping that mean the most to him. It’s almost like, the more trivial it is, the better he feels about it.

It’s an odd feeling. Not something that he really appreciated early in his career, when he was always chomping at the bit to go toe-to-toe against the latest superpowered baddie about to blow up a city. But he finds that for all the thrill and exhilaration, and all the importance, those battles have—none are quite so soul-filling as simply choosing to just…_care _when care is not expected; when you choose to care just because you can.

Peter breathes a content sigh as he leans against the clocktower overlooking the campus. From this height, the stars seem close, hanging low in the sky—and Peter can _feel_, almost hear, the voices of people he once loved.

_Did you feel this way too, Mr. Stark?_

The thoughts come unbidden, but insistent—painful, but the grief is worn with time and mixed with fond nostalgia.

He thinks about his old mentor, almost a father, who always gave him more than he deserved, who always saw the best in him. Tony Stark had seen something in him that he didn’t even know he had at the time, awkward and bumbling—obsessed with his own alternate identity and his superpowers.

“Karen, can you play me the clip for patch number forty-seven?”

“Sure thing, Peter.”

Tony Stark’s voice comes in through the headphones of his suit.

“Hey, kid. I know you’re probably sleeping right now, you’ll get this later. Just wanted to show you some of the cool things I attached to the latest suit—”

He listens to Tony’s recordings, the old memos—developer’s notes, really—that Mr. Stark had personally left him with each upgrade of the suit.

He listens because, sometimes, he forgets what Mr. Stark sounded like. The kind, almost tender, way that Mr. Stark would always address him, no matter what he was personally going through or how bad his day was. The way Mr. Stark would even get a little too protective and upset when he would get hurt. Even the way Mr. Stark would call him “Underoos” in front of the rest of the Avengers.

Gosh. That was so embarrassing.

He doesn’t want to forget what Mr. Stark sounded like. There isn’t much that he has left, he doesn’t remember what his parents sounded like anymore. And he only has their old photos to even know what they look like. Even Uncle Ben’s voice is only kept alive in his memory from the few camcorder tapes that he used to take of him and Aunt May.

He doesn’t remember what Uncle Ben or Mr. Stark smelled like anymore. He used to, but it’s lost on him now. And he can’t help but feel like he’s slowly losing the small memories, the little wisps of people whom he once had and loved, who loved him.

He tries to cling on to their memories. Because if he doesn’t remember, who will?

It’s a sad thought. That the people he loved will be completely forgotten one day. Gone without a trace.

It’s the sound of a metal door slamming shut that breaks him from his thoughts. That, and the tingle of danger that runs down his spine.

Peter leaps to his feet and spies down the labyrinth of alleys and corridors in the campus below, there’s two burly men advancing on a woman in the alleys below. She doesn’t look trapped; but when she turns to confront them instead of running away, Peter leaps into action.

What are you _doing_?

There’s no way a woman would be able to take on two hulking men like that, even if they look unarmed—for now, at least. His danger sense is going off like mad, and Peter doesn’t want to stand around to see someone get hurt.

As he leaps through the air, he realizes he recognizes the woman.

It’s Michelle.

He lands between the woman and the advancing men with so much force that the asphalt cracks underneath him.

No jokes. No sly comments.

The thugs immediately reach for their pockets—the hairs on Peter’s neck rise immediately as danger seems to blare from every direction. He tenses, muscles coiled to spring.

But they freeze instead; and the moment passes.

Instead of a gun, the thug with the beard slowly pulls out a nearly empty pack of cigarettes and nudges the other with an awkward guffaw, “Jus’ lookin’ for a light, Spidey. No need to get y’er panties all up in a twist.”

The other laughs along with him and they awkwardly shuffle away like a bunch of cartoon cutouts, too wary to actually turn their backs on him, but still trying to play off the whole situation as innocuous.

“You guys are terrible actors,” he deadpans. But they quickly disappear into the night without another word. He doesn’t follow, Michelle is here.

The moonlight catches in her curly hair, turning it a glowing silver that splashes down her simple hoodie and jeans. The light splashes across her face, painting her dark and fair in one portrait, striking and fierce. And the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

“What?”

Oh. He’s staring. Shoot.

“Oh. Uh,” Peter casts around for an excuse, “just wondering if you need someone to walk you home?” 

Michelle shoots him a look, “I could’ve taken those guys,” she says instead, smirking.

Peter shoots her an incredulous look, not that she can see through the mask, he realizes belatedly, “Um, have you _seen _those guys?”

She just scoffs and starts walking. Peter finds his feet instinctively following her. It’s a quite a walk from the Mechanical Engineering building back to their dorm, and they walk together in silence. It’s awkward, the silence is oppressive, and Peter scrambles to say something, anything.

“So…where were you coming from?”

“Just from the workshop,” she says with an easy shrug, “I’m working on a project for class.”

“What class?”

“Just a MechE class. We’re working on analyzing alien motors.”

“_Alien _motors?”

“Yeah, don’t you know?” Michelle pauses for a moment, considering her words, “after the Battle of New York, the Battle for Earth, I mean…pretty much every major battle the Avengers fight nowadays, there’s always hundreds of pieces alien technology left behind.”

Peter pauses, he guesses he _should_have known. There were so many supernatural things happening nowadays that it seemed easy just to take for granted.

“Anyways, since they leave a bunch of crap behind every time, a lot of people have been going through that crap and seeing if they can learn anything from it. There’s even a major-focus of Mechanical Xenology here. I think it just became a possible major a few years ago. People are studying it to see if they can use any of it to make our lives better, I guess.”

“That’s _crazy_. And awesome, actually.” Peter paused to consider the possibilities, studying alien technology? Space and interstellar travel? It seemed like every other day, there was something new coming out from Stark Industries, but there was no question that they were still technologically behind some of their alien neighbors by far.

He feels his nerd brain gearing up to interrogate her for a moment, but he tamps it down instead. He…he realizes he wants to know _her _more; even more than the possibilities of new alien technologies.

“Does it keep you up late at night?” he asks instead. It’s late, after all.

“Oh, this?” she motions to the Starbucks cup tucked into the side of her messenger bag, “Some…dork gave this to me in class,” she says, eyeing the cup with a hint of a smile.

Peter felt a wave of warmth rush over him, _she kept it_! She even _smiled_! He resists the urge to pump his fists in excitement. That just made his day. It was so worth it. She was so worth it.

“We’ve never really talked much,” she continues, “but…I guess he lives across the hall from me. I’ve actually never asked him his name. But, here, take a look.”

She turns it to the side so he can see the name sharpie’d onto the coffee cup.

_PeeDar._

For a moment, Peter is frozen, staring at the cup in horror. Does she think his name is _PeeDar?_

Oh my _God. _He was never, _never _going to that Starbucks again. 

“I know, right?” Michelle laughs when a strangled choking sound starts coming from his mask, “I couldn’t believe it either,” she snorts and that’s all it takes for uncontrollable laughter to overtake them both.

Even Michelle’s laugh is amazing, Peter realizes, taking a moment to bask in the sound.

They laugh their way down the street and Peter feels the ice breaking. Michelle finally introduces herself, “My friends call me MJ”, and they hit it off. He’s actually talking to her, even if it as Spider-Man; he’s floating, like his feet are barely touching the street as they walk together.

It feels all too soon when they finally arrive at their dorm. Peter hangs back, pretending that he doesn’t recognize the building. He can’t help but a feel just a little twinge of disappointment at having to say goodbye so soon; this night had been so wonderful—more wonderful than he could have ever imagined.

MJ gives him a small smile and a wave as she slips into the dorm. Peter swings away, looping to land on the roof and carefully sneaking his way into his bedroom window.

He lands inside, slips off his suit, and lets out a huge whoop and dances around the dorm room before settling down in bed.

“I could die happy now,” he announces into the air, smiling. Today…today was amazing. He should just go to bed now, there’s no way this day could ever get any better.

He checks the clock, it’s only…8pm. He totally missed dinner, oops. And Aunt May will probably want to know how he’s doing. He should call her, he realizes. Ned is probably wondering where he is too.

Oh, and he has to make up for half a day’s worth of missed classes.

Whoops.

Chuckling to himself, he settles down to get to work. There’s a lot to catch up on, he realizes, but he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Today was the best.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow my Tumblr for updates!
> 
> https://curseofimmortality.tumblr.com/


End file.
